


Feathery Sword

by Siff



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassin Nasir, Badass Nasir, F/M, M/M, OC Romans, Slavery, Violence, at least I think so, off-screen non-con, off-screen punishment, slave/master relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1297144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siff/pseuds/Siff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nasir is sent to kill Spartacus but fails. This, however, is not the ending of his story with the rebels. </p><p>Or the one where Nasir is a trained assassin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, my first Spartacus story. A little nervous here, especially because I have no beta (hint, hint, hint) 
> 
> I took some liberty here and there, sorry if you don´t like, but it is an AU, so...
> 
> For now there is no really detailed sex-scenes or violence, but it´s rated Mature for a reason. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy^^

A few dying torches were the only light guiding Tiberius. The skies above were clouded and neither moon nor stars greeted him on his path. He was hunched down, close to ground as he crawled forward.

The temple was silent, its dwellers surely asleep this late at night. He had waited for hours, hidden behind small hills or up between tall trees, waiting until the last sound of drunken laughter had dulled to silence. He had found it weird, and more than a little reckless, that the rebels so freely dulled senses with wine when Rome so eagerly strived for their lives.

Tiberius supposed he should just count himself lucky. The Gods seemed to favor him this night.

His way to the temple walls were silent, his leather shoes made no sound as they moved across dead leaves and dried twigs. As he pressed his back up against the white wall, a grin formed on his lips. Not even guards were standing watch.

Either the rebels were brainless or the Gods truly favored his task.

His deft hands and feet easily found the right places on the wall, and soon he was peeking over the top, looking into the yard at the foot of the temple.

The rebels was fast asleep, lying scattered around on the ground. Some alone, others held in lovers embrace. Clay jugs, broken and whole, were scattered across the yard, along with spilled wine and discarded clothing.

With a swift pull by his arms he swung himself up over the edge, landing on a wooden structure the rebels had build. He moved carefully, but Fortuna was clearly with him as the wood stayed silent beneath his feet. He jumped to the dusty ground and sneaked his way across the yard. The rebels slept on in peace even with enemy sneaking among them.

There was only one entrance to the temple, and Tiberius knew the Rebel King was resting inside, along with several others of his warriors. Still there was no guard to be seen and he made his way inside.

The temple was deeper than expected. Several narrow hallways led in different directions, all with several doorways. He knew his time was slipping by and ran down one hallway on silent. He carefully looked through each doorway, finding most rooms empty. Some were cleaned from rumble and dressed for living, with makeshift-beds and small tables. Their owners were sleeping soundly but none were the man he sought.

He searched the hallway without luck and instead ventured deeper into the temple. Larger rooms were found back there along with narrow stairs leading beneath the temple. He doubted that the rebel leader would be sleeping underground. A warrior like Spartacus would be close to his people, ready for any attack.

Time passed and Tiberius almost feared he would have to draw back and try again the following night, when he finally found the right room. It was much larger than the others, clearly fitting for a Rebel King.

And the Rebel King himself was sleeping. Tiberius easily recognized the man, having watched him from his hiding place all day. In sleep he looked peaceful, and with a woman tucked close to his side. His arms were around her and even in sleep they seemed to cling to each other. Tiberius had not expected this, though now that he saw it he knew should have.

He parted the cloths that hanged in the doorway, drawing out knife from within his robes. The knife was light but very familiar in his hand, and he twirled it absentminded between his fingers before grabbing it securely.

He made his way into the room, his breathing low and even as he neared his target. He had to be quick. He had no wish for killing the woman, but she would with no doubt wake and scream, and call for help. He would have to silence her and disappear before the other rebels arrived. But Fortuna had been with him so far, maybe the goddess would grant him a swifts escape.

Spartacus shifted slightly in his sleep, turning head and exposing throat.

Tiberius readied himself and took a step forward. And felt cold steel press against his neck.

“Move and find your blood sprayed across the floor.” a growling voice said behind him. Tiberius closed his eyes and stilled all movement.

Fortuna had left him it seemed.


	2. Chapter 2

Tiberius turned slowly around, feeling cold steel grace skin as he moved.

He met the eyes of a tall man, glaring at him with bloodlust in his eyes. The man was clearly warrior, his body showing both strength and scars as proof. The blade rested steady against Tiberius´ neck.

“Drop your knife or find it ebbed in back.” The man said.

Tiberius quickly ran eyes over surroundings. The tall man stood between him and escape, the doorway being the only opening into the room.

He would have a chance alone against the man, but Spartacus too was in the room. And fight them booth he could not. He only option was to wait and pray for chance.

“I said, drop it!”

Tiberius grinned and slowly lifted his hand so it leveled with his eyes. He released the knife and it clattered to the floor.

“Agron, what is this?” barked a voice behind Tiberius. The rebel leader had woken.

“Your would be assassin.” Said the man, pressing the sword slightly harder against throat.

“What?” said another voice, this one fair. The woman.

There was shuffling noises behind him and suddenly Spartacus himself was standing before him. Now two warriors stood between him and escape. His luck dwindled with speed.

It was… interesting to see the man. Without sleep his face had lost its peace, and his expression was without emotion. Except for his eyes. Tiberius had expected rage from Spartacus when facing the man who had been so close to slit his throat. But he was surprised to see nothing but curiosity and slight wonder in the eyes off the Bringer of Rain.

“Who are you? And why do you strive for my life?” Spartacus asked with calm voice. The tall man holding the sword nearly snarled.

“All fucking Romans in this cursed land wish you dead. We will learn nothing from the boy’s words. Kill him and be free of threat.”

The blade bit softly and blood welled up.

“No,” said Spartacus, “I will learn how he found out position, and who sent him.”

“Sent him?”

“Look closer and see the collar around neck. He is enslaved and sent by a master to take my life.”

The tall man stared at Tiberius like he wished for nothing but part head from body, collar or not, and while his arm tensed at Spartacus’ words he merely gritted his teeth and sighed, “Very well. Speak boy.”

Tiberius stayed silent.

“Speak! Tell us of your master.”

Tiberius bared his teeth and hissed slightly. He would rather face death than give rebels his master’s name. His defiance only seemed to amuse the tall man, though. He smirked at Tiberius before turning his head to Spartacus.

“The wild little dog is refusing to speak. Should I draw more blood to loosen tongue?”

“I will not use torture in order to hear words.” Said Spartacus, looking thoughtfully at Tiberius, “Mira, fetch rope to avoid escape. We will hear truth in time.”

The woman walked past him, sending him dark looks before leaving the room.

More rebels would soon join them. His time was up.

With a snarl he raised his arm and pushed the sword from his throat, cutting skin. Both men reacted instantly but Tiberius had won a few seconds and used them well.

He dropped to the ground, his hand closing around his fallen blade. He rolled to the side, avoided the sword falling and jumped to his feet. Spartacus yelled and grabbed for him but he turned and twisted, and shoved the rebel hard in the back. Spartacus didn’t even stumble, his footing sure on the stone floor. He struck out with his arm, elbow hitting Tiberius on the side of his head and made him stagger. Spartacus grabbed for him again but Tiberius struck after him with his knife, forcing him a few feet back.

The tall man yelled and brought down his sword. Tiberius jumped aside, hissing as steel graced his arm. The rebel struck again and Tiberius feet danced across the floor until he suddenly stood facing the doorway, free of any hindering.

“Agron!” Barked Spartacus behind him and Tiberius wasted no time. He dug feet into stone and sprinted out of the doorway.

There was light hitting the inner walls of the temple now and Tiberius heard voices from the yard. Soon all rebel warriors would be upon him. Escape through the yard was impossible and all thoughts were turned towards other ways. There was one, though narrow. He turned sharply around a corner and ran down a hall. He ran past empty rooms until he reached the end of the temple. Behind him voices grew.

Finally he found it. The room was abandoned like many others. Debris and pieces of wooden beams were scattered around the floor and dust was heavy in air. In the corner he saw it. A crack-like hole in the wall. Smaller than preferred but now served as his only hope. He jumped like a cat through the room, reaching the hole within seconds.

It was indeed small. It was tall and narrow, but he had hope. He was thin and if he turned sideways he might fit through. He quickly tore of outer robe and the leather strap than ran from right shoulder to left hip, joining belt and holding knives. He tossed it all through the whole, hearing a thump as it hit ground.

“Stop!”

His head whipped around and he saw not only Spartacus and the tall man, but also the woman, who held a drawn bow with arrow pointing at him.

“Drop knife and surrender.” Said Spartacus, sword in hand.

With heart beating wildly in chest, Tiberius slowly took a step backwards. Cold winds gently graced his back. So close to freedom.

“Surrender now or die, boy!” snarled another man from behind Spartacus, this one unknown to Tiberius.

He made a small prayer to the gods and turned his back to the rebels. The arrow hit barely a hands-length from his face as he pressed himself against the wall and threw himself through the hole.

Stone dug and scraped skin but pain drowned in the noise from within the room. A hand closed around his arm but he twisted and lashed out with his knife, still clenched in hand. A yell and then the hand were gone.

Fresh air met him as he hit the ground outside temple walls. He looked around wildly, seeing only the foot of the mountain and forest so far away. An arrow landed beside his arm and he scrambled to his feet, grabbing his robe and belt from the ground. He ran towards the forest, hearing the screams of rage coming from the temple. They would follow him he knew.

He looked behind him and saw the woman push herself through the hole, lifting bow and aiming once more. He heard rather than saw the bowstring being released and ducked to the ground. The arrow whistled above him before hitting ground a few feet in front of his head. The woman was well trained.

He ran for the forest edge, glancing back and saw the rebels in pursuit. Several men, armed and yelling for blood were on his trail. He gritted his teeth together and picked up speed. Luck or skill showed he was slightly faster than men so much heavier than him, and he ducked in between trees before the rebel had even covered half the ground between temple and forest. Relief was short-lived as more arrows followed him through the trees.

He ran the way he had come, path easily remembered.

Behind him the rebels had joined him in the forest. They ran over ground like a herd of bulls, noisy and still too slow.

The horse was where he had left it. It was dancing nervously on the ground, ears moving back and forth, trying to find the source of the all the noise. Tiberius jumped on its back and pulled the reins sharply. The horse jumped into motion and soon wind made his hair fly.

He looked behind him, but there was no sign of Spartacus or his men, or the woman with the bow.

He did not relax though, and spurred the horse on until foam dripped from its mouth and sweat rolled off its flank.

He did not draw breathe easily before the sun had risen and the forest was behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it finally is. I blame The Musketeers.  
> Anyway, the next chapter will take longer than this (if that´s even possible, HAHAHAHAH) since I think I might have written myself into a corner. I´ll try and fix it^^  
> Also, this chapter contains off-screen non-con and punishment.
> 
> Oh and from now on, the timeline may be changed here and there. Small things, no big ones that will change the story as we know it. Despite the obvious, that is.

It wasn´t until the sun stood high in the sky before his master´s villa finally came into sight.

The beautiful white building was placed near a large lake and was surrounded by a plantation. The sun hit the water and made it shine like silver, while wind made the leaves sing among the threes.

Yet the beauty before him held no comfort while thought was heavy of knowing what awaited him within the villa’s walls.

The horse was close to fatigue but for once he thought nothing of it. With rest the horse would heal, he might not be so lucky.

He was met at the gates by one of the slave girls. He dismounted the horse and handed the reins to a waiting stableboy. They had expected his return. Dread gathered in his stomach and the girls words, “Dominus is waiting.” nearly made him wish the woman’s arrow had struck true.

His tired body wished for nothing but drink and food, and rest. He also wished he had time to bath. His skin was covered in sweat and dust. The small cut on his neck had bled surprisingly much, now dried flakes on his skin. But all that had to wait.

He walked inside, sighing as the cold air of the villa greeted him. His feet found way to his Dominus’s chamber on own accord, head more occupied with the night’s failure.

He reached the doorway and stopped, nodding to the slave girl waiting there, and she announced his presence. His Dominus answered and Tiberius walked in.

His Dominus, Blandus Varinius, was a young man with early graying hair. His body was tall and strong since he favored sword in able to defend himself. His skin was light, as all Romans were but his eyes was darker than night, along with the curly hair on his head.

He sat by his desk, writing on wax tablets as Tiberius entered the room. His Dominus looked up. “Tiberius! Returned home I see.” His surprised seemed genuine but Tiberius knew how well his master masked truth.

He lowered gaze, “Yes, Dominus.”

“And you bear wounds but are yet alive. I hope you met you task with success then.”

Tiberius touched his neck, feeling the dried blood before eyes widen at the sight of his arm; the wound the tall warrior had inflicted had all but been forgotten in his haste of fleeing. Now he saw movement made it bleed freely, cracking dried surface, making the blood drip down to the floor anew. The sight of the blood made him aware for the pain.

“Well,” demanded his Dominus impatiently, uncaring about his bloodied floor “Is Spartacus dead as ordered?”

He bowed his head and swallowed. His whole body was tense, preparing itself of his master’s wrath.

“Apologize, Dominus. I failed. Spartacus yet lives.”

Only years of training kept Tiberius from flinching as his Dominus rose from his seat. The man moved with unusual grace. Each move, even down to his fingers, seemed to be calculated to fit who or what he faced.

He walked around the table and towards Tiberius, steps slowly and foreboding.

“You…” his master’s voice was absent feelings, “failed?”

He nodded.

“I sent you to kill the Rebel King. You, my most well trained killer, who has never done but ordered, and you say that you failed?”

His master stopped barely an arm’s length from him, his height made him stand a giant. Tiberius swallowed.

“Yes, Dominus.”

The struck made his head snap to the side and he tasted blood. A hand then buried itself in his hair and pulled his head back, exposing throat. His master leaned over him, bowing down so their noses nearly touched.

“You failed?” his master hissed and Tiberius closed his eyes as the fingers holding his hair tightened their grip, “And yet you dare to return? Have past not taught the price of failure?”

“I live only to serve my master,” Tiberius managed to say, fighting against the pain in his scalp.

His master chuckled, a deep, un-amused sound, and the hand fell from his hair. Tiberius fought back a relieved sigh.

“Tell me of your night.”

And Tiberius did. He told his master everything, all the while keeping his eyes on the floor. His master made no move or sound and didn´t speak until the tale ended. His presence, still so close, made Tiberius struggle for air.

“So not only did you fail, but also gave Spartacus the knowledge of that we know of his position.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

His master struck him again, this time more powerful and nearly sent Tiberius staggering to the side. His master made a loud angry sound and turned away, walking back to his desk.

“I trusted you with this task and you tell me you ran like scared whore?” His Dominus’s voice filled the room, sounding loud and powerful, and Tiberius shivered despite himself.

His Dominus ran a hand through his curly hair and grabbed it suddenly, like he had with Tiberius’s, pulling hard. “Fucking cunt.”

Tiberius kept his mouth shut. Nothing he could say would dull the anger in his master.

It could have been hours before his Dominus finally released his own hair and leaned back against his desk, grabbing the edge with both hands. His expression was yet full of anger “This was my only chance to take Spartacus’s life. He will not fall for this again.”

Tiberius clenched his hands. His master was right. Spartacus and other rebels would no doubt take the attack to heart. Strengthen skills and defense. Another attempt would be fruitless.

“Were you followed?” his master asked in a low voice. Tiberius hesitated. That thought had never crossed his mind. “Were you followed?” his master roared at him, a wild gleam in his eyes but Tiberius could still not find words. Instead he quickly shook his head.

His Dominus chest moved like he had run miles, drawing air into lungs in short breaths.

“Good. One thing you have done right this fucking night.” His breath slowly calmed as his tone darkened. “I promised Spartacus would be dead by this dawn and now I will look like fool before Glaber. It took months gaining the fuck’s trust and now it is lost again.” His master pushed himself away from the desk. “I should kill you for this.” he said and stepped closer again.

Tiberius felt breath stop in his throat.

His master walked closer until he once again stood before him, a breath length away.

“Strip.” He ordered and Tiberius obeyed. His fingers shook as he unbuckled his belt and he wondered the reason. His hands had taken more than a dozen lives, never shaking when wielding knife. Yet, before his master, they shook like a child’s.

The belt hit the floor, along with short-legged pants and the robes he had pulled on before entering the villa. He stood naked and bloody before his master, and waited. His Dominus slowly reached out with a hand, placing in on his chest. It was cold. Tiberius forced his body to be still.

“Still beautiful after so many years.” His master murmured, “One would never think this soft skin to be drenched in blood.”

Tiberius hissed as his master curled his fingers, digging nails into flesh.

“I will not kill you,” his master said, dragging his nails down Tiberius´ chest, down his stomach and lower, leaving marks and pain in their trail. “Beauty as yours is rarely found; even more so are your skills. I will not see years of training bleeding out on my floors. But listen well,”

Tiberius winched as his masters hand closed around him in a tight grip.

“Fail me again, and I will break every bone and rip every limb from your body. And you will be awake to taste your own flesh as I force it down your throat.”

Tears welled to his eyes as his masters hand tightened painfully.

“Understood?”

“Y-Yes, Dominus.”

He didn´t release him, but grip lessened and his master lifted Tiberius’s head with his other hand, forcing their eyes to meet.

“You may keep your life, but I still demand blood for failure. You have cost me deeply tonight” He ran thumb over Tiberius´s lower lip and then smiled, teeth bared in a merciless grin.

“Blood can wait though,” he said and Tiberius saw how his eyes darkened, “On your knees.”

 *

He was woken by Lumina, the youngest slave girl in the villa.

She touched his shoulder with care but he still groaned as the small gesture made the skin move. Pain flared down his back and he clenched teeth together.

“Apologies,” the girl cried, tears easily heard in her voice. Tiberius forced himself to look at her, to hide his pain and instead smile.

“No need,” he whispered, throat sore from earlier screaming, “You merely took me by surprise.”

Tears were still gathered in the bright, blue eyes, but she nodded. “Dominus sends me to tend to your wounds.” She held out her hands and Tiberius now saw the small bowl with ointment and white stripes of clothing.

He swallowed painfully and nodded, letting his head fall back down on the pillow.

Lumina as unskilled in healing. She had once or twice in past helped him with a cut or a bruise, but never something like this. He had to bite down into the flesh his hand as she changed the clothing on his back.

He bit back screams as her untrained hands pull to hard or too fast, tearing healing skin. She murmured her apologies’ but Tiberius did not have the strength to both console her and keep screams behind lips.

He could feel her hands tremble as she carefully smeared the ointment on his wounds.

He had been lucky. His punishment had been short.

Normally any punishment was held in the courtyard, so every slave may see what happened when rules were broken. But Tiberius task had been a secret and therefore his failure was too, and so his punishment was done deep within the villa. After his masters release, he had called for one of his guards, ordering him to bring a whip.

Ten strikes, all on his back but none breaking skin. His Dominus had drawn blood in other ways.

He had not been able to keep back the screams and the guard stuffed a cloth into his mouth.

When his Dominus finally lifted hand and the guard lowered the whip, Tiberius had fallen to the floor, no longer able to stay on his knees.

“Do not fail me again, Tiberius,” his master had said, nudging him with a foot. “See to your wounds. I have more work for you in days to come.”

It had been difficult, dragging his un-responding body back to his small room. He had been met by Althea, the villas old healer, and she had taken care of his ruined back.

Lumina finished her work, placing clean cloth over ointment and Tiberius sighed in relief as coolness spread across burning skin.

The girl gathered the bowl and the used clothes, and knelt by Tiberius’s head. He gave her a pained smile.

“Gratitude,” he whispered and she nodded, tears slowly running down her cheeks.

“I will bring you food,” she said and stood up.

“Water,” Tiberius rasped and she nodded again.

She left and he slowly sunk into pained sleep.

*

Three days went by before his master called for him.

He walked through the villa, careful as not to send jolts of pain up his back. It had healed much already. Skin had never been broken and he thanked the gods for such small favors. His movements were restricted though, and pain flared whenever he twisted or bended his upper body, but the pain had dulled much since the whipping.

His Dominus called him into his bedchamber, lying on bed with wine in hand. He ordered him closer with a wave of his hand.

“Let me look,” he said and grabbed Tiberius’s chin hard in one hand, turning his head to the side.

“Pity,” he said, “Next time I will only strike your body. Your face it too beautiful to be marred like that.”

Tiberius said nothing but the thought was welcomed. Bruised on chest and back was nothing new, but the sudden swelling of his eye was uncomfortable and hindered sight. His master released him and he resisted the urge to rub his chin.

“You will train with Aeneas today and in the morning. I will have you back at full strength.”

Tiberius bowed his head, “Yes, Dominus.”

His master drank from his golden cup, looking over the rim at him with dark eyes. With a hand he lifted up in robes.

“Please me, and then go to Aeneas.”

“Yes, Dominus.” Tiberius said and kneeled on the bed.

*

Althea cursed him and every god above as she changed the clothing on his back and tended to new wounds on arms and legs.

“Training after such punishment. The master must have lost mind.”

Tiberius grinned despite the pain being inflicted by the passionate woman. She held no mercy in cleaning wounds, but still worked with skill and experience. If there was pain, she meant for there to be.

“Such words would harvest punishment, Althea. Better keep thoughts from mouth.” he said.

The old woman huffed like an offended hen, “I helped deliver the master to this world. I smacked his ass when he pulled down plates from table, or harassed the slave girls when working. I will smack ass again should he raise hand against old Althea.”

In that, Tiberius held no doubt. His Dominus was Roman, master of slaves and warriors, but he held no power over Althea. A collar might circle her neck but all knew it no longer held meaning.

“There, you foolish boy.” Althea said and slapped his arm, making him wince “turn and let me see your hand.”

He obeyed and held out his hand. Althea cursed anew and he could only grin at her foul words as she washed and dressed his new wound.

His training with Aeneas had been rough and without mercy. The former gladiator had been his teacher for many years, teaching him how to take lives when faced in combat. His other skills of killing had come elsewhere.

Aeneas had shown him no favor and bored down on him with sword and shield, forcing Tiberius to strain his exhausted body to the limit. He had held ground for longer than expected, but after their swords clashed, pain had run up his back, making him drop guard for merely seconds.

Aeneas had seen opportunity and struck swords from Tiberius’s hand, cutting open skin.

It was unfortunate. He favored his right hand and the long gash ran across knuckles and down over his palm. He would not hold knife for a time.

Althea dressed the hand and showed it away from her. “Keep it clean and change bandages twice a day or infection will set in.”

“Gratitude, Althea.” He said and kissed her cheek. She allowed it but then battered him away.

“Enough, you foolish boy. Get out and let me do my work.”

*

The new injuries added to old kept him from training and work, much to his master dismay. Tiberius usually ran errands for his master, but Althea had words, demanded he stayed in the villa. It was no surprise his Dominus obeyed the woman. But instead he kept him close to hand and close to bed.

It lasted only two days before his masters patience ran thin. While he certainly enjoyed having Tiberius on his knees before him, pressing matters rose quickly.

Tiberius was ordered to go to Neapolis, to meet and discuss payment for past favors.

“Be armed, in case old Aries refuses to lighten purse.”

“Yes, Dominus.” Tiberius said and took his leave.

It was only a few hours walk to Neapolis and Tiberius enjoyed every minute. The last week had been stressful. His failed attempt on Spartacus’s life, his punishment, and his master’s never ending desire for him.

His body was tired yet moved with a lightness coming from knowing he would spend an entire day away from the villa. Bloody as it might become.

He was dressed as any traveler, draped in on long robes, wrapped around his arms and a scarf loosely around his head and throat, hiding his collar. He was not unknown in the streets of Neapolis. Some people would recognize his face yet few knew him as Blandus Varinius’s slave. He preferred it to remain as such. His work would be much easier if he stayed unnamed.

Neapolis was as always the image of life. Merchants and travelers flooded the streets, dragging along animals or slaves to be sold.

He made his way across the city, easily finding his way to the docks.

Giant ships were docking or slowly leaving the harbor, carrying goods and humans over dangerous waters. He often stopped and stared at the ship, trying in vain attempt to remember his own travel across the ocean. Memories were few from those days. He remembered only cold and darkness.

He found old Aries house, having visit the man times before. He was a former seller of fabrics, having once clothed the elite of Neapolis and even Rome. Now he was old, his eyesight failing him and his fingers had lost their talent. After both his sons had perished in war, he had been forced to take loan from Blandus Varinius. Loans that now, long after time agreed demanded repayment.

Aries cried and begged. He grabbed Tiberius cloak but it made little different. Tiberius drew his knife, feeling its weight in hand. It wasn’t his usual knife. His most trusted blade was lost in his escape from Spartacus, lying between fallen leaves in the forest. But every blade could cut skin and even inexperienced hands could take life. Tiberius had experience and while he didn´t need weapon, he did prefer it.

He grabbed the knife in his left hand, his right still pained by wound, and turned upon the man.

He was careful but still ended with blood sprayed across his chest and face. He grimaced and spat out red drops, kicking the body by his feet in annoyance. He could not walk through the streets as such and quickly found water in the old man’s house. He washed blood of hands and face, along with chest. His clothes he could nothing for.

He rearranged his robes, trying to hide the red splatter closer to skin.

He wiped off his knife in the dead man’s clothes and quickly left the house, but not before searching it, finding the few coins the man had hidden in his home.

He tucked the coins deep within his robes and pulled the scarf over his head again.

Night had fallen early and fewer people wandered the streets. It would take only an hour before life would return and drunken laughter would fill the silent night. Sailors never missed a night of pleasure, and Neapoli could grand them both wine and whores.

Knowing his master was eager for his return, Tiberius quickly walked the streets, hoping to reach gates before they closed for the night.

He walked past the docks and whore houses placed there, grinning as men made fools of themselves to impress women who only desired their coin.

He watched as a man stood upon a barrel while swinging sword around head and failed to watch his path. He collided with another man, being nearly thrown backwards. In last second he found footing and ducked his head.

“Apologies,” he said and skirted around the man, only to be stopped by hand on his arm. He froze as fingers dug into flesh.

“I know you.” The man said and it ran cold down Tiberius back as he recognized the voice. Slowly he lifted his eyes and met the intense gaze of the tall man from Spartacus’s room. The one who had held a sword against his neck.

This time he did not wait.

He pulled his arm free and took off down the street. The man yelled behind him but he did not look back. What were the rebels doing in Neapolis? They were wanted men, hunted like animals and yet they wandered into Roman cities. Fools, every one of them.

He heard the man yell behind him and quickly ducked into an alley, taking a turn and ended on another street. He looked behind and saw the man still in pursuit.

He couldn´t help a grin. The man was persistent. But let him try. Tiberius knew these streets as well as his own hand.

The race was on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to show a little of the world this Nasir comes from. It´s merely a small taste of it. His master is not a very nice man, in case you haven´t noticed.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading^^


End file.
